


Nation of Two

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshō no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Necromancy, Other, Pining, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3946918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marth’s been dead for a dozen years when Xane steals the Aum Staff.  By the time Xane uses it, enough time has passed that Marth is not as pleased as Xane hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Boredom"

**Author's Note:**

> This fic pulls mostly from New Mystery of the Emblem: Heroes of Light and Shadow and contains spoilers for it. A sequel is in the works, providing I finish it. 
> 
> Thanks to Measured, Max, and Angela for giving me advice and encouragement.
> 
> The gender-neutral pronouns I use for Xane are xe/xem/xir/xirs/xirself, pronounced ‘zee/zem/zeer/zeers/zeerself’:
> 
> Xe wears a feather headband.  
> It is xir feather headband.  
> The feather headband belongs to xem.  
> The feather headband is xirs.  
> Xane picked the feather headband out xirself.
> 
> In real life xe pronouns were invented in the 1970s, but my in-universe headcanon is that Xane modified them from a dragon pronoun set.

Marth’s been dead for a dozen years when Xane steals the Aum Staff. The idea’s been brewing for a while, as Xane sometimes thinks that if only mortality were thrown out the window, xe wouldn’t be lonely. Of course, that isn’t true—Xane is still too different, and humans too disappointing. Besides, raising the dead sounds like a hassle.

Xane isn’t sure exactly when this changed. It might have been when Marth rescued Xane from imprisonment. Xane hadn’t exactly swooned, but a human who would actually aid xem spiked xir interest, especially when learning what Xane could do didn’t make Marth treat xir like a freak. Then again, it might not have been until Xane guided Marth through Anri’s Way and realized xe would have done so even without Gotoh’s orders…or it might have been after that war was over, when Xane found xirself returning to Castle Altea again and again as a guard, a maid, a troubadour. 

Whatever the case, Marth’s early death leaves a bigger hole than usual, and Xane derides xirself for getting attached. Adding to the sting is the fact that Marth was assassinated. Knowing firsthand how gullible his knights can be, Xane spends many nights regretting not giving him more warning, or even staying on as a castle spy. 

Still, it isn’t as if going out of xir way to add a few years onto a human’s life will do much in the long run. Xane tells xirself that even as xe shifts into a thief’s body and picks the lock to the chest holding the Aum Staff.

When Xane returns to the abandoned fort on the edge of the desert where xe’s been staying, xe makes no move to use the staff. Why rush? Even if this were a good idea, xe has all the time in the world. It’s pretty on the mantel, all gold with red tassels. Matches xir outfit.

A decade passes. Marth’s niece has taken the throne; he and Caeda never had children, well enough given his death. Xane doesn’t go to see her. 

Another decade. Xane’s ventures out of the desert become few, and xe barely knows how well the heir is ruling. Xane’s visit to the graveyard of fire dragons chills xir despite the heat; the place seems frozen in time compared to the rest of the world. There was a time in Marth’s army that Xane became slightly more optimistic about humans, but one encounter with the fire clan without Marth at xir side stamps that out. 

Another decade passes, or maybe two, but Xane isn’t counting. Despite xir boredom xe barely sees the point of leaving the fort these days, as all that’s waiting is the realm of dragons on one side and that of humans on the other. Tiki’s asleep, Bantu’s off somewhere, and Xane’s not running errands for Lord Gotoh. More and more, Xane sleeps to escape. Xane’s no stranger to nightmares, even if not on Tiki’s scale, but as time passes, xir dreams diversify. 

In one, Xane is a dragon again, wasting away at the dragon’s graveyard when Marth travels through. All Xane’s body can recognize is an intruder, even as what’s left of xir mind screams at xir claws to stop. In another, Xane is back in the prison, waiting to be rescued. Xe isn’t.

The dream that breaks Xane is nothing so dramatic. Marth and Tiki sit by a fire, Tiki half-curled on Marth’s lap while he tells stories. Watching, Xane tends the fire, feeling no urge to participate but no barrier from doing so. When Tiki falls asleep, she doesn’t quiver. Absently Marth strokes her hair, meeting Xane’s eyes and smiling.

When Xane wakes, xe’s trembling. Xe prides xirself, if nothing else, on control over xir body, but the tremors don’t stop, and Xane gets up and walks to the mantel as if still in a dream. The Aum Staff slips from xir sweaty palms, clattering on the floor. Xe snatches it up and holds it tight, thanking Naga it’s not as fragile as it looks.

Xane waits until xe’s regained composure; xe’ll have to be guarded before inviting company. Once xir head has cleared, Xane wonders what xe was thinking. In all these years, xe hasn’t planned this, not really. Xane has no idea what will happen. 

The dream comes back in snippets, just gentle and safe enough to hurt. What is Xane planning to do for the rest of the century, or the next? Xe doesn’t even have someone to imitate these days. 

So without thinking further, Xane becomes a princess. Xe chooses Elice, because hey, Marth’s sister welcoming him home, how nice for him. She died many years after he did. Xane heard her husband went a year later. 

Not trusting xir imitations as well without the person present, Xane checks in a mirror, startled by what xe finds. The blue hair framing xir face is so reminiscent (of course it is; xe just hadn’t _thought_ ). Xane raises the staff.

The top glows. Magic always makes Xane tingle, healing especially, but there’s something different about the Aum staff, a million needles that sew knots in Xane’s gut and then tear them out one by one. 

A body begins to take shape on the floor, encased in a silvery light that makes Xane shut xir eyes. The needles are pulling Xane’s insides out, pricking xir skin from the tip of xir nose down to xir heels. Just as Xane thinks xe’s about to hurl, whatever’s invaded xir body recedes, leaving it feeling empty. Xane’s knees hit the ground before xe opens xir eyes. When xe does, Marth’s full form has been stitched together and lies motionlessly among the shattered pieces of glass and wood. 

Xane waits. Marth—if it’s really him—doesn’t move. Xane’s fingers drum against the floor, then crawl over to the corpse’s abdomen and begin to tickle. Marth’s shoulders twitch, his eyelids scrunching before fluttering open, stretching wide, then wider. Xane smiles.

“Hey there, princey.”

Marth’s eyes don’t narrow, his mouth hanging open without moving to respond. Catching a glimpse in the mirror, Xane realizes that half—and only half—of xem is still Elice, creating the image of a doll sewed morbidly together. Xane laughs and returns to normal. 

It takes a while for Marth to figure out what happened; his reactions are slow, his words slurred as if under the influence of a drug, and Xane’s more interested in prodding and teasing than giving proper explanations. When Marth finally seems to get it, all he asks is, “Why?”

The hands on Xane’s knees tense. Xane’s settled into a cross-legged position beside Marth, who’s propped onto his elbows and looking at xem with innocent confusion. All at once Xane remembers that xe hadn’t thought this possible and thus didn’t dare to express more to Marth than a lack of antagonism. Xane wipes xir palms on xir pants.

“I was bored,” Xane offers, shifting xir hands to the floor so xe can lean back. Marth doesn’t seem to think it’s worth pursuing, instead touching the left side of his chest.

“I don’t remember dying. I mean, I don’t remember _how_ …”

Before remembering there’s a mirror nearby, Xane shifts into a reflection of Marth. It only takes a second for Marth’s eyes to drift to ‘his’ neck, his hand leaping to his throat to cover the gash there. 

“I must have been sleeping,” he says after a pause to examine the rest of his face, no doubt noticing his grey skin, the stray silver hairs, and the way the lines around his eyes run deeper than any thirty-something-year-old’s should.

“Yeah, and your guards, too.” The bitterness doesn’t quite rub off Xane’s tongue.

“They weren’t killed as well, were they?” Marth asks.

“Just drugged, from what I know.” The instant relief in Marth’s eyes almost makes Xane shake xir head, though not in blame. 

Marth asks about the rest of his knights, his family, his country. As he realizes how much time has passed, his face seems to become—if possible—greyer, and Xane quickly attempts to brighten it. Xane hasn’t been out much, xe admits, so the two of them can go on a trip, see the world for themselves. Won’t Marth’s niece just fall over in surprise? It’ll be a laugh. She has kids; Marth can meet them. They’ll visit Tiki. She has to wake up sometime, and she’ll be so happy.

None of this seems to reach Marth. Xane’s begun rocking back and forth; xe slows, then stops. Marth rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Xane, I’m dead. How can I intrude upon the world I left behind after everyone’s moved on?” 

Xane wraps xir sash around xir finger, looking at it so xe doesn’t have to look at him. _‘Everyone.’ Thanks._ “You want me to send ya back, then?”

“No, I suppose you couldn’t really do that,” Marth says, a hint of epiphany in his tone, as if he’s finally realizing he’s not just visiting for dinner but will have to figure out what to do with the rest of another life.

Without responding, Xane gets up and stretches, glancing out the window at the sun rising over the sand. Xe’s realizing the same thing.

xxxxxxx

It takes a while for Marth to be able to sit up and longer for him to stand or walk. Watching him stumble makes Xane recall xir brief time as a manakete, struggling to get used to the fact that human arms are no use as a second pair of legs. Balancing without a tail was the hardest thing. In comparison, switching between the forms of a human child and adult is nothing.

They stay in the fort, safely away from bandits and dragons. Marth runs his hands over the stone of the walls, then stares at his palms with a wrinkled brow before doing it again. 

“It looks rough,” he says.

“It is.”

Marth drops his hands.

That his body isn’t human is obvious; it won’t accept food, and he doesn’t need sleep. He tries anyway, but Xane watches him lie awake and stare at the wall, the window, the floor. 

Xane chatters to him about increasingly inane subjects, anything to get him to talk or smile. Marth says little beyond polite murmurs, until Xane’s words grow fewer in between bouts of restless pacing.

To Xane’s dismay, pranks are no fun. Marth reacts to little except Xane becoming any of their dead comrades, which earns horrified looks. Xane tries several; Merric and Tiki tell Marth to cheer up while Jagan and Elice offer tough love. When murmurs of adoration from Caeda make Marth snap, Xane backs off and lies down on the other side of the room, listening to Marth’s uneven breaths.

Being with people is lonely, Xane remembers now.

xxxxxxx

Over the course of a fortnight, Marth works his way up to basic sword practice. Xane perches on the windowsill and watches, kicking xir legs. Marth got to this point by way of cleaning and organizing every part of the fort, and he had just begun trying to fix a cabinet Xane had long since given up on. “You sure work hard for someone who got an out from all his responsibilities,” Xane remarks. Marth waits until he’s finished a set to answer.

“I’m Altea’s king—Archanea’s emperor. I can’t just set that aside so easily. Besides, I’ve been helpless to protect too many already; I’ll not get lax and find myself in that situation again.” It’s too serious a response for Xane to play with, though privately xe wonders who Marth is expecting to protect at this point. 

Marth’s breathing is labored, but he barely sweats, even under the desert heat. Xane wonders if that’s why Marth picks the sword back up and starts again when a human should have needed a break. 

When Marth is again capable of more complicated moves, he announces that he’d like to go out and check on the state of the world, as he can’t stand knowing so little about the current political situation. Xane jumps at the chance; xe’s stayed in the fort long enough to hate the grey walls and endless sand. While Marth would like to see Tiki, waking her could be dangerous, and neither of them is sure how the meeting would affect her perception of human mortality, so they leave the desert in the direction of the former nation of Altea.

Master of camouflage that Xane is, xe assures Marth that xe can guide him without anyone the wiser. They hide Marth in a cloak and a mask resembling a butterfly that Xane found once in the desert, fabricating a tale about him suffering from a contagious illness. Xane takes the form of a cleric in charge of Marth’s healing, and Xane’s increasingly exaggerated descriptions of Marth’s symptoms are enough to keep people away. 

“When you think about it, I’m actually puttin’ it mildly,” Xane says one night after they’ve made camp. “I mean, bein’ dead’s way more severe than purple skin.” While Marth still seems uncomfortable with the lies, he stops objecting after Xane points out that they can tell the truth if Marth prefers. 

The fire crackles. Marth doesn’t shiver at night, but he huddles around it regardless, and Xane drapes a blanket over his shoulders. 

As Marth can’t sleep and Xane doesn’t want to, they sit up, Marth commenting on the travelers they’ve come across and the next day’s route. When that conversation trails off, Marth clears his throat. 

“I admit, I’m still a bit confused.”

“About what?” Xane asks.

“About why you’re doing this. You don’t seem to have a plan, and the Aum staff is no casual matter, even for you.”

Xane draws xir knees in, digging xir toes into the sand. “Maybe livin’ for centuries makes someone a little sick of not controllin’ life and death.”

“I suppose I could understand that, but why me? Surely you’ve met hundreds of people.”

 _Yeah, and most of them ain’t worth half your left pinky._ Xane’s toes press, squishing the sand. It’s cool between them, though will be irritating to wash off. “Thirty’s short, even for humans. Besides, I already told you, you’re…different.”

Xane fidgets and looks away. Even if xe doesn’t reveal what’s at xir core, peeling back any layer makes xem feel vulnerable. If someone were to scoop out a piece of what they find, Xane would live a long time without getting it back. 

Before Marth can respond, Xane changes the subject. “Well, y’think we can make it to Altea within a fortnight? Travelin’s a lot faster without an army in tow.”

xxxxxxx

The journey takes longer than Xane predicted, partly because Xane has no sense of time and partly because Marth is surprisingly slow. Xane always forgets how much humans are hindered by terrain, and though Marth is no longer affected by the hot days and cold nights, his boots sink into the sand. He’s constantly stopping to look around, and he pauses each time a decision needs making. Frequently he’ll ask about supplies despite the fact that the two of them need little besides water and Xane’s food, which xe takes care of. Eventually Xane works out that he’s not used to traveling without an entourage, always needing to keep track of a group and call meetings with his advisors at every turn. It seems like a bother to Xane, but without it, Marth looks lost.

At first they encounter only occasional travelers, as bandits inhabit the area, and Marth remains quiet. The closer he gets to civilization, the livelier he becomes, spending evenings guessing at what changes the world might have gone through. Before his death he’d been trying to establish trade with Gra, and a corner of Aurelis was fighting to secede. Did Khadein ever share the store of knowledge with Archanea that Merric and Elise had been petitioning for? The list encompasses everything from crop yields to advancements in sailing technology, and Xane thinks it’s no wonder Marth never laughs with all this crammed in his head. 

Marth wonders especially about his heir, Merric and Elise’s daughter, Wendy, who’d been a controversial pick but one he’d insisted upon as he and Caeda couldn’t bear children. At first he only discusses the political situation he left behind for her to clean up. She was little more than a toddler when he died, and Caeda handled much before she came of age. Marth confesses to feeling guilt for placing that pressure on them, especially as he’d left so soon and unexpectedly. 

“Some of my last memories were of Wendy sitting in my lap and reaching for my crown,” he says with his eyes closed. His hands rest on his knees, his elbows spread wide as if making room. “Those little fingers had quite the grip.”

The image makes Xane think of Tiki, who xe hasn’t wanted to think about since the gap between Marth’s death and her return to sleep. Xane draws a line in the ashes around the fire. 

They soon douse it; Marth’s coming to terms with the fact that he doesn’t need it, and the smoke could draw bandits’ attention. A half moon, a smattering of stars, and fireflies give just enough light. Xane points out constellations named centuries ago, before the dragon clan began to die; human mages have since come up with a different set. 

“We still have that one,” Marth says when Xane identifies a couple of arcs that come together at a point—a dragon wing, according to legend. “Merric taught me. We call it—”

Xane’s lying on xir back, arms folded behind xir head, and while xe can’t see it xe can picture Marth’s mouth snapping shut. Xane stretches a leg out. “That’s the astronomer,” Xane comments mildly. “Named for a dragon who studied the stars.”

“I…I’m sorry.” Without the fire, the only sounds are those of bugs, more of a low buzz than the chirps of grass insects. A hawk cries as it passes over them. “It was a long time ago that he told me.”

After a moment, Xane sighs and sits up, finding the stick xe’d been drawing with and patting the ground beside xem. “Not your fault, I guess. C’mere, I’ll give you the lowdown.”

Xane’s history lessons become a nightly event, as Marth is eager to learn and Xane won’t admit how taxing it is to think back that far. Xe can’t resist throwing in false trivia to see how Marth will react, though it backfires when Marth begins to cast suspicious looks during perfectly true stories. Xane isn’t sure if xe is disappointed or proud that Marth isn’t trusting blindly.

It’s just as well that Xane has Marth examining history, as since Khadein is on the way to Archanea, Xane isn’t free of deserts just yet. Thankfully Xane likes being in Khadein, as the buildings have higher ceilings than most human settlements, making Xane feel less trapped. The library the pair settles in is no exception, with shelves built high enough against to require ladders to reach the top sections. The one wall supporting no shelves is covered in maps from different eras; the only windows are on the ceiling, casting a grid-like pattern of shadows over the room which long tables are fitted in between. 

While Marth studies historical texts, Xane looks into resurrection. Admittedly xe hasn’t done so before now, as xe assumes it isn’t done enough for there to be useful literature on the subject. Most of what exists is a warning against researching it, as in the wrong hands the ability to raise large amounts of the dead would be ruinous—thus the Aum Staff’s limited use, entrusted only to princesses, who are apparently assumed to have pure intentions. 

Xane slips the book back onto the shelf and glances over at Marth, who’s examining a scroll. Xane’s not the type to use xir abilities for world domination, but xe isn’t sure xir intentions can be considered ‘pure,’ either. 

Tearing xir eyes away, Xane sizes up the rest of the room’s inhabitants. A mentor and student are engaged in hushed conversation at the other side. When Xane ambles in that direction to eavesdrop, xe determines that the conversation is only being conducted so privately out of consideration for the otherwise silent room. Xane scratches xir foot against xir ankle. A room with a couple dozen inhabitants shouldn’t be so quiet, Xane thinks; xe waited until it was full to enter, as crowds make it easier to blend in. The city has no doubt seen all manner of mysterious beings over the years, so Marth and Xane don’t stand out as much as they might have, but Xane can’t help but feel that some of the mages peering at them over their books can feel something is wrong, maybe even guess at what. 

When light no longer streams in through the ceiling, they leave for the quarters they’ve arranged for the night. Nobody gives them trouble or asks questions when they ask for a private room, but they make little eye contact with Xane and none with Marth. Xane suspects Lord Gotoh is aware of what they’re doing and looking after them, though nothing confirms it. 

Marth’s brow is furrowed when he removes his mask. “Studying go well?” Xane asks.

“It gave me much to think about.” Marth sits against the wall to do so—it doesn’t seem to occur to him that switching to a bed would be more comfortable, and Xane says nothing. “Are you aware how few records credit dragons for, well…”

“Anything?”

“Yes.” 

“It wasn’t hard for humans to ‘discover’ things, especially mages researchin’ in the desert.”

“I just hadn’t realized how much dated back to dragons at their peak until you told me. I know not all history is accurate, but I’m surprised that Lord Gotoh wouldn’t monitor this.”

“Oh, Lord Gotoh’s responsible for some of it. He thought censorin’ things would help ‘avoid conflict.’ Now, if you ask me, he gave humans too much. That’s how that disaster with Gharnef started, y’know. You already know the story about how he threw away his dragon stone and founded this place.”

Xane’s still standing, having sat long enough in the library. Marth’s been staring at his knees, but he looks up at Xane now. “You did too, though, didn’t you? You weren’t involved in this at all?”

Xane scuffs a shoe against the tile. “I never planned to live with humans. I just didn’t wanna lose my mind like the dragons that degenerated."

Xe can almost convince xirself it’s the whole truth; only distant memories remain of trying to fit in with humans, of failing. Xane looks at the potted plant in the corner, a leafy variety that only grows in the tropics without magical intervention, and suddenly wants to be anywhere else. No matter how it turned out, the fact that Lord Gotoh managed to build this place of humans, to teach and live with them while Xane drifted has always been a source of envy. 

“I found several works published by Merric,” Marth says, making Xane start. “It was all magical theory—nothing I really understand. It’s just…”

Marth’s chin has drooped, and Xane can feel xir own shoulders dropping. Xe lowers xirself to the floor. “Seeing the legacy of people you’ve known firsthand ain’t somethin’ humans experience every day, huh?”

Marth nods, saying no more on the subject. It hits Xane that back when xe thought there was no rush to revive Marth, xe was only thinking of xirself. It’s almost ironic, after all that humans have taken from dragons, for a dragon to displace this human. _Not pure, after all,_ xe thinks.

Still, the urge to flee from the city is gone, so Xane can’t bring xirself to add this to the pile of forgotten regrets.


	2. The Hero King

They don’t stay in Khadein for long, as Marth is eager to get to Altea. The boat ride bores Xane, trapped in such a small vessel for days on end, and Marth is quiet during it, his face green even though he can’t get sick on an empty stomach. 

“Many of my boat rides haven’t been under the best circumstances,” he explains after Xane prods. “But I’ll be fine.” Xane’s joking attempts to cheer Marth up only seem to make him greener.

Luckily it’s not such a long ride, and soon they reach Altea. Marth stands for a long moment at the harbor, swiveling slowly. “Home,” he murmurs. Xane mimics the sound under xir breath; it’s not a sentiment xe would know where to echo, but the amount of feeling Marth puts into the one syllable shouldn’t go without replication.

Now that they’re in Altea, Marth doesn’t seem to be in a rush to reach the capital, meandering through the countryside to visit the towns. He stops to comfort crying children (not successful, with his disguise), study new literature, and examine buildings that have gone up in reconstruction. When he passes people living on the street, he’s upset that he has no access to Altea’s coffers. What little contact he has with people he uses to ask about recent events.

A fortnight or so into their travel, they’re approaching a village when a merchant stops them along the path and warns them to turn back. “A little bird told me some bandits are coming down from the mountains. They’re getting bolder lately, with the local lord’s negligence and all.” 

“Have the villagers been warned?” Marth asks. The merchant’s red ponytail swishes as she shakes her head. 

“Not sure. I hightailed it out of there before some nasty bandit could get a chance at my goods. Say, I missed out on a market; if you’re interested…”

Marth declines without looking at her wares, and the merchant rides off. Xane had started mentally mapping out a route around the mountains, but as soon as xe sees Marth’s response to the merchant, xe realizes it’s a moot point.

“Your army’s not backin’ us up, and truth be told I haven’t taken care of that sword I lent you in a good dozen years,” Xane shouts over the wind as xe follows Marth, who’s already begun sprinting down the road. 

“The villagers need warning, if it’s not too late. If it is…” Marth’s hand finds the hilt of his sword. The merchant might have had better, but Xane doubts Marth will turn around now to check. 

“I just gave you that body, and you’re gonna go throwin’ axes at it to see what sticks? You really are a mystery.”

“The safety of the Altean people is my responsibility. If they’re in danger, I can’t turn a blind eye.”

Through the adrenaline, in the back of xir mind it hits Xane that this is _Marth_ —alive—in a way it hadn’t while they’d trudged through the desert. The thought that that could be undone in a heartbeat due to Marth’s recklessness makes Xane grabs his wrist when the village comes into sight. Marth’s attempt to shake the grip off fails, as Xane imitates him, matching his strength. 

“Just hold your horses a sec,” Xane says, gesturing to xir body. Xe hasn’t imitated his mask, leaving his pallid face exposed. “ _This_ is what you look like right now; if a bandit group’s attackin’ that village, you think even two of you can tackle them head-on?”

Marth’s wrist slackens, giving Xane pity. The first time a battle broke out after Xane gave up xir dragon stone, the instinct to use power xe no longer had crushed xem. Releasing him, Xane claps Marth on the shoulder. “If I can’t outwit a few bandits, I should turn in my chameleon club membership now. I’m just sayin’, we shouldn’t go in blind. Sit tight while I go have a look-see, okay?”

The only sword Xane owns is at Marth’s hip, so xe checks xir dagger and slips down the path, settling for size’s sake on the form of a child clad in a simple brown cloak that Marth had stopped to chat with in the last town. As xe approaches the village, xe eyes the broken gate, which has no guards posted. Xe climbs a post and surveys the situation.

A melee has just broken out near the entrance. The group of bandits isn’t large, but neither is the village. At the front of the village sits a set of shops, one of which is on fire; a few shopkeepers struggle to fight the bandits off, one swinging a pitchfork. The houses further in are still standing. A couple of humans emerge from them with bows and arrows, but the rest are either cowering inside or bravely (foolishly) brandishing cooking tools. Though the bandits swing their axes clumsily, the blades are deadlier and the bearers are more ruthless, and Xane is already off the post when some bandits slip from the group to bear down on the townspeople.

When Xane returns to the nearby foliage Marth is hidden in, Marth is sitting in a tree, apparently trying to climb onto a high enough branch to get a view of the village. “Never thought of you as the squirrely type, princey.” The nickname still slips out, however inaccurate, and Xane hasn’t cared to change that. Marth slides down, brushing off his knees.

“Caeda taught me when we were young. How is it?” 

“We’re late, but the fight’s young. We oughta move fast if we’re gonna stop it.”

Quickly Xane relays info on the numbers and layout, Marth leaning forward with a hand on the hilt of his sword the whole time. “So we don’t have time for a complex maneuver—we’ll have to take advantage of the chaos to hit them hard,” Marth says, cutting xem off. “Our priority is protecting the villagers. Move—” Marth stops, his mouth stuck in the shape of the rest of the command, as if suddenly realizing his lack of authority. Xane grins.

“Move out,” Xane finishes in Marth’s voice. 

They waste no more time in entering the village. Screams multiply in a wave, and the fire has spread to the next shop while the people that were trying to put it out run. One of the bandits is down with an arrow through the back. The villager who’d brandished the pan lies on the ground behind the shopkeeper with the pitchfork, who is about to make what looks like a losing strike against a bandit. 

Before they can, Marth intervenes with a sword to the bandit’s back. The bandit falls in a graceless lump. 

Unnoticed, Xane copies one of the more muscular bandits and sneaks behind a pair of them that are threatening a shopkeeper. Neither of them registers the imposter until one has been stabbed with a dagger, and when the other turns, the fist of his ‘comrade’ meets his jaw.

That’s as long as that disguise works, because the townsfolk are in too much of a panic to register what side the newcomers are on. An arrow splits the air where Xane’s head was a second before xe reverts to xir usual, shorter shape. The transformation results in exclamations, and Xane hopes Marth is taking advantage of the distraction. Xane doesn’t have time to check if he is, as xe uses it xirself to pluck the axe from the grip of the bandit xe stabbed, shouting to draw further attention as xe swings it. 

With Xane’s default build, the axe nearly topples xir over. Again xe shifts, this time into the burliest-looking bystander, and uses the blunt side of the axe to knock a bandit over the head. 

By this point Xane’s side is being pelted by objects harmless enough for xem not to pay them mind until xe notices that half the objects (Rocks? Store items?) are being directed behind Xane. The realization comes just in time for Xane to turn and see an axe descending.

Immediately Xane drops xir own weapon and shrinks, loosening xir joints as xe falls. Xane hits the ground and rolls, scrambling to get up. There’s no need. The bandit is already down, an arrow in his neck. 

Xane lies low, swiveling to grasp the situation. The bandits near the shops have been overpowered, but most of the group took the fight inward, where Marth and the archers have made quick work of them. A stray rock hits Xane’s shoulder. Xane puts off grumbling and goes to help Marth. 

As Xane had hoped, Marth’s instincts are still sharp from years of war, and soon the bandits that aren’t down or fleeing have been disarmed. This doesn’t calm the panicked villagers, who Marth has to persuade that Xane means no harm. The way some of their eyes are bugging out of their heads amuses Xane, but it’s less fun when some look ready to run xem through.

Marth organizes the townspeople to tie up the living bandits, to some resistance. “Why wait to take’em to the gallows?” someone asks with a scoff. “The lords around here don’t care one wit what happens to us, anyway.”

The statement is met with loud agreement. Somehow Marth manages to calm them enough to have the bandits restrained, allowing villagers to crawl out of hiding and begin to assess the damage. 

Rather than pitch in, Xane stays to the side to catch xir breath and stretch the growing soreness off, watching Marth while doing so. Even now there’s something noble about his bearing that must not have escaped the villagers’ attention, as Xane can see a few young ones in the back whispering to each other. An elder tells them about a masked man of similar gallantry and mystery from many decades back; Xane remembers how poor that particular man’s disguise was and figures xe’d better teach Marth how to blend in better. Those lessons would have to wait, as the villagers extend their hospitality, and Marth, of course, can’t turn a courtesy down. 

Throughout this, a trail of blood splatters the ground behind Marth’s cape. Xane assumes he’s trying not to make a fuss about it and avoids looking at it as well, though xir skin itches in the way xe usually turn to pranks to ignore. As soon as the pair is led to the inn and left alone, Xane puts xir hands on xir hips. “All rightie, let’s have a look at that wound.”

Having taken off his mask, Marth’s forehead wrinkles. “Wound…?” He looks down at himself, his mouth forming an _oh_. Xane’s stomach falls.

“It’s been bleedin’ for a good—oh, take that cloak off, we’ll treat it.”

Luckily Marth’s injuries haven’t escaped the innkeeper’s attention, as bandages and a pouch of healing herbs sit by the bed. When Marth removes his cloak, it’s impossible not to pay attention to the gash on his throat, which never quite healed; though it doesn’t bleed, it hasn’t closed over in a scar. As striking as it appears, it doesn’t seem to be dangerous, so Xane assesses the new injuries. In addition to bruises that have blossomed in patches of purple, there are wounds on Marth’s non-dominant arm and one leg from which most of the blood has spilled. Some of it is not as different in color from the bruises as it should be, and if Xane looks closely, xe can see threads of silver and green. 

“It really doesn’t hurt,” Marth says. His voice is steady, but his arm quivers as Xane treats it. 

“This could be a problem. Whatever color this blood is, I’m assumin’ it’s still back to the grave with you if you lose it all.”

“These injuries aren’t that dire.”

“No, but the next time you throw yourself into a scuffle, are you gonna be able to tell if they are?”

“I haven’t lost all sensation. Just...just some. Besides, you haven’t addressed your own injuries,” Marth points out. Before Xane can protest that xe’s not injured, xe looks down and realizes that xe collected a fair share of bruises and scrapes. “See? It’s natural not to notice in the heat of battle.”

Though a bit banged up, Xane’s not bleeding the way Marth is, but Marth looks paler than usual and Xane is no stranger to a body undergoing change, so xe drops the subject. After finishing securing the bandages, Xane gives them a final pat. “Well, I’ll just have to keep an eye on ya. You saved the day this time at least, right?”

“I had help,” Marth says, smiling. “I’m just relieved that most of the villagers are all right.”

Xane sets the leftover first aid materials aside before picking a bandage back up and wrapping it around xir finger. Xane doubts the Aum staff provides invincibility. Xe also doubts that’s hit Marth, in all his concern for others. As royalty, his life has never been his own, but it is now, and the moment he realizes that will be the moment he throws it away.

Twitching, Xane unwinds the bandage and tosses it, searching for a joke. It doesn’t take long. Xane morphs into Marth, pulling an exaggeratedly serious expression.

“We don’t have time to squabble amongst ourselves. A negligent lord is all the more reason for us to band together to lawfully protect this village. Move out!”

Color returns to Marth’s face. “That’s really what I sound like?” 

“Haven’t gotten the hang of not being a leader?” Xane asks, switching back. Marth lifts his hand to his neck, freezes, and shifts it to the back of his head.

“It’s funny—it actually took a lot of work for me to get used to commanding groups.”

“Well, standin’ at attention’s not my style. Anyone who follows you now does so on their own terms, y’know?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Marth’s hand drops and settles on the sword, the edge pricking his thumb. Pursing xir lips, Xane lifts Marth’s hand away; he looks down at it with dull surprise. 

While Xane might seem spontaneous, xir body is tightly controlled. Yet it’s pure instinct that leads Xane to bring Marth’s hand to xir mouth and suck off the blood. The metallic taste—dusty, somehow—makes it hit xem what xe’s doing. Xane yanks xir head away and blinks at Marth, who looks singularly perplexed. 

Laughing, Xane lets go and jabs a finger at Marth’s nose. “You oughta see the look on your face!” 

After staring for another moment, Marth shakes his head, grumbling and returning his attention to the sword, which he begins to clean before the day’s blood can stain. Xane watches to see that he doesn’t cut himself again, trying to hush xir pounding heart and hoping Marth doesn’t realize the moment was candid.

xxxxxxx

The village children who’d whispered about Marth the day before implore him to stay another day, so rather than set out in the morning like Xane planned, they stick around to help the children’s parents rebuild their shop. Xane, for xir part, spends most of the time performing tricks for the children, who are much more fun (and throw Xane fewer suspicious looks) than the adults tallying up their financial setback.

The children—twins, a boy and a girl, both with a generous smattering of freckles—are eager to impress Xane with their own impressions, amateurish but not lacking for gusto. After the girl has angered her brother with her impression of him, Xane pries the boy’s fingers away from his sister’s shirt and asks about his favorite game.

“Hero King!” he says, brightening. Out of the corner of Xane’s eye, xe sees Marth freeze. The boy pouts. “Well, it would be, ‘cept Clara never lets me be him.”

“ _Duh_ , mummy had me first, so I get to choose first. And I want to be him.”

“But then you always make me be Emperor Hardin, or Medeus!”

“That’s because you look like a scary dragon. Xaney, didja notice Clarence’s teeth? They’re sharp in the front.” Clara bares her own ‘fangs’ and makes growling sounds, scratching at the air with one hand. It’s the worst impression Xane’s seen yet, but xe doesn’t think that’s worth mentioning. Clarence looks close to tears.

“Say, I wanna see your Hero King impressions,” Xane says quickly. “Both of you.”

“Yeah, let’s make a contest out of it!”

“No fair, Clara’s had more practice,” Clarence says.

Xane winks. “If you win, though, it means you and Clara should start takin’ turns—right?” 

That perks Clarence up, and Clara still seems confident, so they both run to pull together costumes. Clara ties a sheet around her neck like a cape while Clarence uses a potato sack, which he tucks his hair under to make it match the length of Clara’s. They sneak pieces of wood from the pile that the workers have been collecting and tie them to their waists with pieces of leather. 

One at a time they brandish their ‘swords’ and shout threats at their enemies. Clara is indeed a better actor, with more force behind her words, though Clarence is unintentionally more in character. Xane is actually impressed when Clara knocks over a pile of goods after a dramatically given speech, but her parents are unfortunately not, the mother halting in cleaning up ash to take the wood away and scold her while glaring at Xane.

“Oopsy daisy,” Xane says once she’s left. “Guess that didn’t go over real well. You know what, though, kiddo? The Hero King had all manner of setbacks, too.”

“Do you know stories about the Hero King?” The kids seem to have already forgotten their contest, looking up at Xane with expectant faces. Xane glances around, realizing Marth has disappeared, and crouches, gesturing for the kids to come close.

“Sure I do. I’m a traveler, y’know. We hear all kinds of things. For instance…” 

The kids plop onto the ground while Xane ponders. “Once, I met a wanderin’ troubadour. This troubadour had just come from a festival at the Altean capital…”

The kids are still listening raptly when Marth returns with a bundle of wood. “…and it was a good fortnight before the Hero King’s advisors convinced him that it was immoral to put anyone to the death for not ownin’ an accordion,” Xane finishes just as Marth drops his load. Xane grins at him while he stoops to pick it back up, wishing Marth wasn’t wearing a mask so Xane could see his expression. 

When they return to the inn that evening, Marth is sullen, responding little to Xane’s chatter. “Don’t be so glum. I was just kiddin’ around,” Xane says. Marth shakes his head.

“It’s not that.” 

“Oh? Somethin’ happen while you were haulin’ ashes around?”

Again Marth has foregone anything comfortable in favor of sitting against the wall. He leans his head against it, tilting his chin up. “I asked around about this land’s situation. Altea’s part of the United Kingdom of Archanea, but the most central governing happens on the mainland. I’m sure Wendy tried her best to attend to the people here, but…their day-to-day life is dependent on the local lords.

“That being the case, I asked about the lord who owns these lands. Apparently, they shifted hands of late.”

“Yeah?” Xane has been standing while unraveling the knots in xir sash, which xe had lent to the kids as part of another set of costumes. Now Xane sits beside Marth, setting the sash in xir lap.

“A few decades ago, this area was more prosperous,” Marth starts. “Then one day, it was uncovered that an ambitious lord had hired an assassin to murder the king. The lord was executed, and the land passed among relatives, none of whom have any interest in ruling.”

Unsure what to say to that, Xane follows Marth’s gaze. A spider scuttles along the ceiling before disappearing into a crack. Closing his eyes, Marth raises his hand to his throat, swallowing audibly. “When they learned what had happened, the people cried for the lord’s blood. The square in front of the castle was crowded during the beheading. Then, the people took to the streets in memorial.”

Dropping his hand, Marth clears his throat. “So, that was what was on my mind,” he says. “But to be honest, it is also strange hearing myself being spoken of as a set of actions. Not that I didn’t commit those acts, but…”

“We already learned how much history leaves out.”

“Right…I didn’t see much about myself in that library, but I will be, someday. Scrolls and portraits and books…I think the strangest thing is how solitary of a figure I am. Many of the friends who supported me are already lost from history.”

Marth’s hand has fallen to his side, where it would be easy for Xane to take it. Instead Xane picks the sash back up, running it through xir hands. Even Xane can’t justify trying to lighten the mood when xe has to find a way to joke the gesture off.

xxxxxxx

The twins latch onto Xane and Marth’s clothes and beg them again to stay, but before long they hit the road. It’s only so long in one place before someone catches sight of Marth without his disguise, or before Xane—still unpopular with all but the kids—attracts too much negative attention. Marth glances back several times as the village becomes a speck on the horizon, his steps slowing. Xane picks up the pace.

“Don’t think about it,” xe says.

“That can’t have been the full bandit force. I’m sure they’re going to go looking for their comrades…”

Lightly Xane places a hand behind Marth’s shoulder and presses, directing him forward. “We’ll only be an attraction if that’s the case. Say we stayed long enough for rumor to get out—you don’t think that could be bad for the village?”

Marth continues walking, but his speed doesn’t increase. “I should have given the villagers battle pointers, at least. Or…”

“You can list regrets all day, princey, but it doesn’t change the fact that we didn’t belong there. You were just gonna get more attached if you stayed, and then you’d keep findin’ more reasons not to leave.” 

The sky is clear and the air dry. Over the mountains, dark clouds are just barely visible, but Xane expects they’ll be dried up by the time they hit the village. 

“Is this what it’s always like for you?” Marth asks. Xane kicks a pebble along the trail and tucks xir elbows behind xir head.

“No, I don’t usually have someone talkin’ about such serious things.” Luckily, that makes Marth drop the subject. He continues his subdued pace, but it’s Xane that looks back when the village disappears behind a hill and the storm clouds ahead come into focus.


	3. Nation of Two

In the next town they buy a pair of horses. The clop of hooves against the ground stands in for conversation, and during evenings Marth devotes his attention to caring for the horses. Xane lets him be in charge of both, as Xane gets attached to animals more easily than to people and their lives end that much sooner, to say nothing of the fact that they’ll give them up before getting back on a boat. 

For many days they don’t go an hour without seeing water on at least one side—a welcome change from the desert, at least. At last they see Castle Altea across the lake. The structure hasn’t changed, even if its political importance has diminished. Marth stops to stare at it in the distance for long enough that Xane dismounts to stretch. Xe can guess what’s on his mind: twice now he’s returned here in the midst of war, learning of loss in his family the moment he stepped inside. The first time Xane had blended in and watched, curious about the human who’d just rescued xir from Dolhr, as Marth smiled and waved from the balcony. This time there will be no crowd. 

When they enter the city, the streets are bustling with people heading to and from the market. Dismounting, Marth stands there for a second as if waiting for a reaction; a group passes by, casting their attire odd looks but otherwise moving on. After Xane nudges Marth, Marth rubs his neck and continues. 

As soon as they’ve secured lodging and settled the horses into the stable, Marth makes a beeline for the castle. Xane is unsurprised when he turns, not toward the castle gate, but to the nearby church. The area behind it is dedicated to graves, with those of the royal family and other nobles closest to the church and families with less money set to rest as far back as the top of the cliff. A breeze from the water picks up, and Xane shivers. Marth glances at xem. 

“I’ll…likely be a while,” he says quietly. Xane nods and turns away.

Seeking to avoid the graves, Xane steps inside the church. It’s not in session, and xe wanders, studying the paintings. All of them depict Naga in a human form, one not at all similar to Tiki. Xane fancies a world where xe and Gotoh are worshipped, wondering what the depictions would be like. Xe can imagine Gotoh fitting into the paintings with their grand, ethereal scenes, but any reputation Xane garnered would likely be of a figure to avoid. 

When a couple of clerics enter, Xane slips out, unable to distract xirself from checking on Marth. Xe doesn’t have to look far; Marth is near the church, lying on the ground with his head resting against a stone as if the earth will create a blanket around him. Xane doesn’t have to check to know the grave is Caeda’s.

Scanning the rest of the yard, Xane sees flat stones with insignias on them that reveal them to be the resting place of knights. Faces and voices that had receded from Xane’s memory return in a headache-inducing round of echoes, causing Xane to search for something in the landscape to ground xem. A couple of dark birds pick at the dirt, but otherwise the yard is still. Unlike dragon graveyards, those for humans aren’t meant to be full of half-dead beings rotting away. Xane sits down outside the church, resting xir head against the wall and closing xir eyes. All xe can see is Marth lying there. 

Xane doesn’t realize xir hands are fisted in the grass until xe hears footsteps. Cracking an eye open, Xane sees Marth’s boots and stands, forcing a soft smile. “Ready to go?”

Though Marth is masked, Xane can tell by the way his shoulders are shaking that he’s been crying. Xane’s smile falls. 

“Why?” Marth asks. “Why did you do this?”

Xane’s mouth goes dry. Xe can’t bring xirself to evade the question this time, even if xe gets the feeling Marth isn’t expecting an answer, but xe can’t find the words. Xane’s eyes travel over Marth’s shoulder to the graves. “You should’ve found the answer while you were there,” Xane says.

“No. No, I don’t understand. I’m supposed to be—”

As instinctively as Xane reached for the Aum Staff, Xane steps forward and grabs Marth roughly by the arms. “Don’t. Don’t you dare go sayin’ that.” 

Xane’s close enough to see xir own reflection in the mask—xe’s switched back from whatever that day’s disguise was, xe can’t remember now—and as vulnerable as Xane feels, the fact that xe can’t see Marth’s face helps, as if it works the other way around as well. “I—you oughta know by now how lonely this is. But we can be alone together, y’see? It’s…it won’t be so bad that way. I—we won’t be the only one.” 

Xane’s trembling, and xe knows Marth can feel it through his gloves. Xane fights the impulse to pull away, instead tightening xir grip. “C’mon, don’t leave again now. We’ve still got a lot of world to see. It’ll be fun, promise.”

Other than his own light shaking, Marth hasn’t moved, his arms stiff in Xane’s grasp. Xane finally loosens his hold, gently rubbing until Marth pulls back. “I’m sorry, I…need more time.”

Already embarrassed, to say the least, Xane lets Marth return to the graveyard. Xe stays near the church until the sun sets, then goes alone to the inn where they arranged lodging. Rather than enter, Xane stays in the stable, tending to the horses. When they fall asleep, Xane curls up between them and rests his head against one, feeling the rise and fall of its torso and wondering when xe became the type to cling to things xe couldn’t keep. 

xxxxxxx

When sunlight enters the slits in the stable’s roof and the horses stir, Xane returns to the graveyard. The sky over the water is still pink and the city in a mild, lazy buzz rather than the full business of the day before. In the village where they’d spent a couple of days, the people were probably up and tending to crops hours ago.

Marth is again lying against the gravestone when Xane finds him, this time curled into a ball with little except his boots sticking out from his cloak. Xane sticks xir tongue in xir cheek. Though xe doesn’t want to greet him as xirself after the day before, turning into one of his fallen friends would probably make him mad. Finally Xane shifts into Clara, complete with her Hero King costume.

“Gharnef, you evil coward, face me properly!” 

The bundle of cloak stirs, Marth throwing the fabric off his shoulder and peering up at Xane with squinted eyes. His mask lies underneath him. “What the—? Oh. Xane.”

“Gee, you could sound a little more excited. That one was an impression of an impression. Pretty nifty, huh?”

Marth rolls back over. Frowning, Xane crouches and picks up the mask. “At least put this back on before anyone comes.”

“I care nothing for that, for who would even recognize me now?”

He might have a point, but Xane can recognize the apathy of one who’s given up. Xe looks around. Marth is again at Caeda’s grave. The one next to it—the one Xane’s inadvertently settled over—is his. It strikes Xane that Marth’s original body must be nothing but bones not far below Xane’s feet. The same thing must have occurred to Marth.

A shadow falls over the patch of grass Xane is staring at. “I beg your pardon,” a voice asks. “Are you two visiting this grave?” 

Xane can never guess human ages, but the woman’s blue hair is streaked with grey, and the dimples in her cheeks run deep. Her tunic, trousers, and cape are lined with gold, and she carries herself with the air of one who is tired of keeping a straight back. Not daring to glance over to see if Marth’s put his mask on, Xane smiles and stands.

“My pal just picked a poor place to take a nap. Are we in your way?” 

“Don’t fret on it. If you don’t mind me noticing, you don’t seem to hail from these parts—have you just arrived?”

Xane spins a tale of traveling mercenaries who’ve come to visit the graves of knights they’d met on the field. Though xe thinks xe sees a twinkle in the woman’s eye, she seems to accept this, and Xane asks for her name in return.

“Forgive my manners. I am Wendy. Until recently, I was the residing empress of the United Kingdom of Archanea.”

Xane doesn’t care about social etiquette, but xe gets the feeling Marth is too stricken and too used to being fellow royalty to observe custom, so Xane kneels. “Forgive _our_ manners, m’lady.” Wendy chuckles.

“Please, I’ve finally given up the most trifling of that. Do rise. My Aunt Caeda always taught me to be a bit on the improper side, to my mother’s dismay, rest their souls.”

Wendy tilts her chin down, and the pair is clearly meant to leave her be. Xane hazards a glance at Marth, who’s still on the ground, his mask in hand. He’s facing away, but when he rises he looks at Wendy for the briefest of moments, and her wistful smile falters, a question forming between her eyes. Marth slips the mask on and brushes past her. After giving her a bow too sweeping to be polite, Xane hurries to catch up.

They make it to the front of the church before Marth halts. He’s trembling again, Xane realizes. “Don’t just stand there shakin’. Go and talk to her.”

“I…I want to, but what in the blazes do I tell her?”

“She’s Princess Elice’s daughter, she should know about that staff. She’ll believe ya.”

Still Marth stays frozen. Xane taps xir toes against the side of his boot, and Marth swallows. “Weren’t you the one talking about not getting attached?” Marth asks.

“Yeah, and a fat lot of good that’s done. Look, that’s how I…usually live, but you’re not me. It doesn’t suit you, I reckon.” 

Closing xir eyes, Xane takes a breath. “Princey, to answer your question, I did all this to be happy. And I’m not gonna lie: I was only thinking of myself. It’s made you miserable, I see that, and I’m sorry. But this would make you happy. Wouldn’t it?”

A bell rings. In the distance, people approach, and Marth steps to the side of the church. “I’m…going to go talk to her. Sorry, but would you mind waiting?”

With encouragement Xane sends Marth off, staying put long enough to see Marth go to her. She’s kneeling in front of the grave where he’d been lying, and when Marth says something to her she stands. It’s too far to make out what they’re saying, but after he removes his mask she reaches for his face, and by the time the crowd enters the church she’s thrown her arms around him.

xxxxxxx

The water has eaten up the remainder of the pink by the time Marth is finished. He’s put his mask back on when he returns to Xane, who sat in on part of the church service out of curiosity but left before xe could cause mischief. Marth’s not as slumped now, and his voice is lighter. On their way back to the inn, he comments on the sights around them, a statue of the Hero King in the square and shops carrying goods from nations with which the past Altea engaged in little or no trade. Their funds are limited to what Xane got from pawning off desert finds, but Marth purchases a large bag of dried fruits from Gra that he knows Wendy likes and lets the vendor keep a generous amount of change.

Back at the inn, Marth doesn’t seem able to sit down while he tells Xane what happened. It took little for Wendy to believe his story, not because of his face but because she asked him a series of questions that, based on stories Caeda told her, only Marth would have known how to answer. Marth doesn’t specify what they were, getting flustered and quickly moving on to all he learned. 

It turned out Wendy had vague memories of sitting on his lap, but most of her knowledge of him came from Caeda, whom she was closer to than perhaps anyone else. Thanks to her, Wendy learned of Marth as a kind and somewhat clumsy person before learning of him as the Hero King. To her parents’ disappointment, she never took to magic lessons and only learned minimal healing, but she loves swordplay and riding, and she still rides the pegasus Caeda had before her death. Like Marth, her husband had died young, and her son had only recently been crowned to rule in her stead. 

“Caeda found much comfort in her,” Marth concludes, his voice dangerously close to losing its steadiness. “I can see why. She’s grown so wonderfully.”

“She certainly seems like quite a lady, as far as humans go. Lucky we ran into her, eh?”

“Yes. She’d like to meet with me again before returning to the mainland. I just…for a moment there, I almost fell into complete despair, and then just as suddenly I’m no longer alone.”

Xane has been sitting while Marth paces about. The last Xane saw Marth had settled by the window, but Xane is staring into xir lap now, putting every ounce of effort xe cares to give into not taking it personally. Xe bits xir lip and stands. “That’s great for you,” Xane says. Xir mouth twitches at the passive-aggressive tone—it was supposed to be genuine. Now Xane even lacks control over xir voice?

Marth’s hand, which has been fiddling with the window shutter, freezes. “Xane, I didn’t mean—”

“I got it. I’m not tryin’ to rain on your parade.”

Marth shakes his head and drops his hand. “No, it was thoughtless of me. Of course you’ve been by my side this whole time. I’m afraid I haven’t been very…appreciative.”

“I forced you into all this. You didn’t have to be.” Xane laces xir hands behind xir back, stretching xir arms and searching for a way to redirect the conversation—anything not to put focus on xem, on xir feelings. 

“Well,” Marth says before xe can, “I know you said it wasn’t for me, but—”

“It wasn’t.”

“But I still appreciate it. That you…I mean…” 

Xane winces. This is exactly what xe wanted to avoid discussing. “Princey, you’ll embarrass us both.” 

“Um, right.” Marth gives a small smile before returning to messing with the shutter. He clears his throat. “You were right before. We still haven’t touched most of the mainland. I’m sure it’s changed quite a bit.”

“No doubt. You humans overhaul everything when you have a war.”

“It’s not just humans, but you’re right. I’d like to see the rest of Archanea and Talys especially. And, well, if you’d like…” 

“Lead the way. Your nation of one’ll follow,” Xane says with the same exaggerated bow xe gave Wendy. 

Turning away from the window to face Xane, Marth widens his smile. “Are a king and a follower not a nation of two?”

Something worms its way into Xane’s chest and curls, and xe recognizes an ember from the dream that sparked all this. It’s not the same—rather than that peace, Xane feels on edge, and behind Marth’s collar the gash in his neck is poking out. But Xane’s never liked dwelling on unpleasant things, so for now xe practices imitating Wendy and laughs at Marth’s complaints until it’s time to feed the horses, at which point Xane follows Marth out the door.


End file.
